


summertime: part iv

by we_the_hollow



Series: living like we're renegades: Summer AU [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 02:17:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5565331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_the_hollow/pseuds/we_the_hollow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Pah! What is chronological order? What is grammar? Punctuation? Italics?</p>
    </blockquote>





	summertime: part iv

**Author's Note:**

> Pah! What is chronological order? What is grammar? Punctuation? Italics?

It's dark here, only one streetlamp at the end of a long driveway. Typical, he thinks, perfect murder scene. "Way to go, Son," he says to himself, glancing over at the passenger seat.

Broken glass and gravel crunch beneath his tires as he pulls up to the side of the building, red and blue light illuminating the two figures who stand there scuffling, before he turns and sets his headlights on them both. The smaller figure spins around with wide eyes, a deer in headlights, before seeming to shrink into himself.

Damn right you should be ashamed you little shit.

John steps out of his car, slams it. The teen takes the other cop's momentary distraction to try to escape. To no avail. The cop cuffs him around the head with his baton and that's the last straw.

"Hey take it easy officer! That little delinquent is mine!" He shouts, marching over. The other coo just looks dumbfounded, glancing between them both.

"He is?" he replies, the confusion on his face evident. Granted, the Sheriff and his son look almost nothing alike. Only minutely.

"Yes. He's my son,"

"See I told you, man! You newbies n-" Stiles tries, face indignant. John cuts him off before he can get properly started.

"Stiles shut the hell up and get in the car!"

"Righto pop," says Stiles, popping the 'p' and going for a salute before John glares at him and he drops his hand. Behind him the car door opens and shuts, but he glances over just in case. Stiles waves a little from the passenger seat and even has the decency to look a little sheepish whilst he's doing it. John turns back to the cop.

"You a newbie?" he asks sternly, working his best intimidation game. He's been told he's got a knack for scaring the bejeebus out of anyone. Pity it doesn't apply to Stiles.

"Yessir. First day," the cop retorts, squirming a little under the Sheriffs glare. The guy has at least fifty pounds on him and he's probably a foot taller, but right now he's practically quivering in his boots.

"Alright what's your name?" John takes out his notepad, runs his tongue over his teeth.

"R-rockatansky sir,"

"Alright Rocky. You're on my list," John sketches a quick rocket ship, before flicking his eyes back up the man stood before him.

"Sir?" Rocky seems to have taken a step back, so John steps forward. He's close enough that he has to crane his neck a little, and he can feel the heat coming off of the taller man, see the sweat beading on his forehead and along his collar.

"Of people who have manhandled my child without my permission," he punctuates the last three words with a poke in the chest after each, so that Rocky is three steps away. He makes a show of grinding his teeth before he crosses his arms over his chest and begins speaking again.

"Now..as its your first offence, I'll give you a warning. You won't get a second," he doesn't wait for a reply, instead watching as Rocky shakily climbs into his own car and switches the lights off before he drives away. He waits a minute, before turning to his awe struck son.

"That was awes-"

"What the hell were you thinking Stiles? Vandalism, really? What are you, thirteen?" He turns the key a little roughly, grunting when it doesn't cooperate.

"It wasn't-"

"Sure it wasn't," he says, with a glance down at where Stiles is nervously fidgeting with his paint stained fingers, covering and uncovering them with the ends of his sleeves. "Next time bring acetone,"

"Shit," Stiles replies, yanking the sleeves right down.

"Yeah, shit! And watch your language!" Stiles pouts and John sighs, pulling out of the driveway and onto the main road, keeping his lights on so he can drive above the speed limit.

"Stiles you do realise that there's an extremely violent supernatural killer on the loose right now?" He chances another glance over at his son, who has quit the pouting and is now sporting an expression of incredulity.

"Dad. It's Beacon Hills. There's always an extremely violent supernatural killer on the loose," Stiles tips his head back, yawns, fidgets. He hisses when he tries to get comfortable.

"That's besides the p- Stiles?"

"What? Carry on with your lecture, I'm fine,"

He does carry on, although a little reluctantly and a lot less harshly. Houses and cars fly by his peripheral as he speeds to get home.

"You were alone," John says, tone softer, almost defeated. For a genius, his son sure was damn stupid at times. "Completely and utterly alone on the other side of town, nobody knew where you were and I jus-" this time it's Stiles' turn to interrupt.

"Hey Dad. Dad, chill, okay? I was fine, I wasn't alone. Derek was playing lookout,"

"Derek. Right," Despite Derek and Stiles growing up together, and the Hales and Stilinskis getting along perfectly well, John just couldn't let go of the fact that it was his son, his only son, out there every week, fighting whatever Big Bad had decided to rock into town. And yeah, Derek had Stiles' back. And they both came home in one piece. Always. But one day Stiles-

"Aw come on don't pull that face. You like him!" Stiles whined. John schooled his face into something more neutral before he continued.

"I tolerate him. For your sake. If I had it my way you would never date anyone. Ever. And in an ideal world you would do as I say, " it stays quiet for a few minutes before Stiles begins fidgeting again, picking at something on the side of his face that John can't see. It's another minute or so before John realises Stiles is waiting for him to ask. "What is it son?" he says quietly, casting furtive glances between his boy beside him and the road in front.

"Nothing, it-it's nothing-" Stiles grits out dismissively, wincing once again as he adjusts his seatbelt. John breaths out harshly through his nose.

"Clearly. Now. You gonna tell me or you wanna wait till we get home and tell me and your mom both?" Stiles' eyes get wide, and rightfully so.

John knows he himself can be intimidating, but damn it all to Hell if Claudia Stilinski is not a force to be reckoned with.

Her voice rings clear in his head now, 'Why do you think hurricanes are named after women?'

There are a few moments of silence, and they're just driving past Melissa's house when Stiles pipes up. "Alright I'll tell you,"

The lights come on in Melissa's house, and he sees her rush across the little alley that separates their houses, and into his back door. The lights of his own house come on then too, and Claudia and Melissa both appear within seconds at the sitting room window, peering out at the car as John pulls into the driveway.

He lifts his hand in a wave and Claudia's hand goes to her smiling mouth before she disappears again, presumably to put on a pot of tea for them all. Melissa disappears after her.

Stiles is just starting up, when another figure emerges from Melissa's house. It's Scott, bare chested and footed, in a pair of shorts. He yawns and stretches on the porch, before loping over with a grin plastered on his face. He leans into Stiles' open window, all slow and languid. "Hey buddy," he says, running a hand over Stiles' head in a measure of affection that the Sheriff is still unable to decipher. "Hey Sheriff," he offers, almost tacked on, eyes still locked on Stiles' own, questioning.

"We'll be up in a minute, Scott. Tell Claudia to break out my whiskey. Somehow I don't think tea'll cut it tonight," he says with a sidelong glance at Stiles.

"Sure thing, Sher," Scott answers with a little head tilt before he jogs up to the front door, one last long look left for Stiles, before he too disappears inside.

"Alright," Stiles exhales long and hard, before ejecting his seatbelt. He rubs absently at his shoulder while the Sheriff waits patiently; turns off the engine, takes off his own belt, winds his window back up. Stiles moves to do the same, but stops suddenly, and the pitiful sound he made was definitely not as quiet as he'd hoped.

"Stiles-"

"He hit me!" he blurts, seemingly surprised, before he forged on. "He hit me, alright Dad? Real hard, before you got there. And I kept telling him to stop and t-"

"Wha-wh-Derek? Derek hit you? I'm go-" and his mind races at the thought, his blood boils, his vision-he's so f-

"No! God, Dad! No. The - the guy. The new guy. Rocky. Rocky hit me," and his vision clears and he's hit by an unsettling wave of calm. Rockatansky hit his son. He knows exactly how to handle this.

"Oh," is all that he can manage, seemingly on autopilot as he flicks switches and turns knobs.

"Oh?" comes Stiles' incredulous tone, cutting through the atmosphere. "Dad, when you thought it was Derek, you were about ready to kill him!" he accuses , fully facing John now. He can see the anger in his sons eyes, the way it's threatening to spill over. "And I tell you no, it's one of your own, and you're super chill about it? What- what?"

"Son, he'll get what's coming to him. Don't worry," John replies coolly and Stiles seems to get it, just as the radio begins to buzz to life.

"Then. Then do it here, right now. So I know," he says, smirk on his lips even though he knows John will. Knows his father will defend him in a heartbeat. So he tunes in to Station 2 and waits a second as the static evens out.

"Deputy?"

"Sir?" comes the welcome familiar voice of Jordan Parrish, his second in command. Luckily, and admirably, still at the station.

"Instant dismissal for Rockatansky. GBH charge," John says simply, looking at Stiles all the while. Stiles' grin just grows.

"Yes sir. On it," Parrish says dutifully, and even before he's tuned the line out, John can hear him shuffling at papers.

Then the car goes silent for a second before Stiles reaches for the radio himself. He bites his lip in question, and John just tips his head in response.

"Hey Jordie?" Stiles says, mischievous smile playing at his lips, "Make sure he knows who claimed for it,"

"Sure thing, Sparky," replies Parrish before signing off for the good. John smirks, and unlocks the doors for them to get out. They walk up the driveway, with John's arm slung over Stiles' shoulder, and Stiles' step light and jovial even as he holds his ribs.

John makes a mental note to subtly mention it to Scott, see if he can't do anything about that.


End file.
